Chapter 1 - The Watch in the Snow“Return it to whom?”
Howerin stared at Marin for a long time.
Then he walked to the front door.
Locked it.
Flipped the sign from OPEN to CLOSED.
Only then did he return to the counter.
“Raphael Santoro.”
The name landed heavily.
Marin had heard it before.
Everyone in Boston had.
Not in newspapers.
Not usually.
In lowered voices.
The kind of voices people used when discussing things they didn't want repeated.
Raphael Santoro.
North Harbor.
Shipping.
Construction.
Private clubs.
Nightlife.
And stories.
Stories about men who crossed him and never appeared again.
Marin swallowed.
“You're saying this belongs to him?”
“It belonged to his father.”
“Then I should take it directly to him.”
Howerin shook his head.
“You don't understand.”
“Then explain.”
He lowered his voice.
“Bruno Santoro wasn't killed for money.”
Marin waited.
“He was killed because of this.”
He pointed toward the watch.
“That watch contains something that can destroy the Santoro family.”
Marin looked down.
“The engraving?”
“No.”
“The internal plate?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
Howerin leaned closer.
“There is a second compartment.”
Marin frowned.
“I didn't find one.”
“Because only Ilia could open it.”
Marin's heartbeat quickened.
“Why?”
“Because he designed it.”
She stared.
“You said Ilia made the watch.”
“I said he helped make it.”
He reached beneath the counter and pulled out a small brass box.
Inside were old sketches.
Marin recognized the handwriting.
Ilia's.
Her hands trembled.
“What is this?”
“The original blueprint.”
She studied it.
The watch had three mechanisms.
The first displayed the time.
The second concealed the steel plate.
The third—
Marin stopped.
“A key.”
Howerin nodded.
“A mechanical cipher.”
“What does it open?”
“The Santoro family vault.”
Marin looked up.
“And the money?”
Howerin shook his head.
“No.”
“Then what?”
“Evidence.”
“What evidence?”
Howerin stared toward the locked door.
“Enough to send very powerful men to prison.”
Marin's mouth went dry.
“Why didn't Ilia destroy it?”
“Because he believed the truth should belong to the person who earned it.”
“And who earned it?”
“Raphael.”
Marin looked at the watch.
“Why would Ilia trust him?”
“He didn't.”
That confused her.
“He trusted Bruno.”
“But Bruno died.”
“Yes.”
“And Raphael inherited the watch.”
“No.”
Howerin's eyes hardened.
“Raphael never inherited it.”
Marin stared.
“He thought it was lost when his father died.”
“Then why was it here?”
“Because someone took it.”
“Who?”
Howerin looked at her.
“We never found out.”
Marin stepped back.
“I'm not getting involved.”
“That is the smartest thing you've said.”
“I'm serious.”
“So am I.”
She took the watch.
“I'll return it.”
“When?”
“Today.”
Howerin shook his head.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Raphael isn't the danger.”
“Then who is?”
Howerin hesitated.
“Everyone who wants that watch.”
Marin left.
She returned to her apartment.
The city had already turned pale beneath the morning snow.
She placed the watch on her desk.
Her brother Wyatt's rehabilitation bill lay beside it.
$18,400.
The thought came.
Sell it.
One object.
One decision.
One lifetime of debt erased.
Marin stared at it.
Then she remembered Ilia.
A good watch tells you the truth twice a day.
She had never understood the saying.
Now she did.
Truth was useless if you only looked at it when it benefited you.
She picked up the watch.
She was returning it.
No matter what.
At 4:00 that afternoon, Marin drove north.
The Santoro residence sat behind iron gates near the harbor.
Guards stopped her at the entrance.
“I have something for Raphael Santoro.”
The guard looked at the watch.
His expression changed.
He spoke into his radio.
Within three minutes, the gates opened.
Marin's hands tightened around the steering wheel.
She had expected fear.
What she didn't expect was the strange certainty that the watch wanted to come home.
The front door opened before she knocked.
A tall man stood inside.
Black suit.
Dark eyes.
No smile.
Raphael Santoro.
Thirty-four.
The most feared man on the North Harbor.
He looked at Marin.
Then at the watch.
For one second, every trace of composure vanished from his face.
“You found it.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Warehouse 9.”
He stepped closer.
“When?”
“Last night.”
“Did you open it?”
Marin paused.
“Yes.”
His expression hardened.
“What did you see?”
“A steel plate.”
“Anything else?”
She hesitated.
“Your father's initials.”
His jaw tightened.
“Come inside.”
She did.
Raphael closed the door.
Then locked it.
“Give me the watch.”
Marin held it out.
He didn't take it.
Instead, he stared at her hand.
“You should have sold it.”
“I considered it.”
“Why didn't you?”
“Because it wasn't mine.”
Something changed in his eyes.
For the first time, he seemed almost curious.
“You know how much it's worth?”
“Yes.”
“And you still brought it here.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Marin looked at him.
“Because somebody has to do the right thing even when nobody is watching.”
Raphael stared at her.
Those words hit deeper than she intended.
He took the watch.
His fingers brushed hers.
A tiny spark.
Mara—no, Marin—pulled her hand away.
Raphael noticed.
So did she.
He opened the watch.
Then froze.
“What?”
She looked.
He was staring at the engraved plate.
Twelve words.
His father's code.
Raphael whispered:
“She solved it.”
“Who?”
“My father.”
Marin frowned.
“He made the watch?”
“He made part of it.”
Then the security alarm sounded.
Red lights flashed.
Raphael looked toward the windows.
“Stay here.”
“What?”
“Don't move.”
A gunshot shattered the glass.
Marin screamed.
Raphael pulled her against him.
For one second, she was pressed against his chest.
She heard his heartbeat.
Steady.
Calm.
Then he pushed her behind the marble column.
Men shouted outside.
Raphael drew a weapon.
Marin watched him disappear through the door.
She realized something.
The watch hadn't just been lost.
Someone had been waiting for it to return.
May you like
And now that it had—
they knew exactly where it was.
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